


A Cut, a Drop of Blood

by PearlsAndRoses



Series: I never asked for love [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Orlesian (Dragon Age) Balls, Sex Outdoors, Sexual Harassment, being an elf in Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsAndRoses/pseuds/PearlsAndRoses
Summary: Gossip, backstabbing and some old-fashioned prejudices against elves. Orlesian parties are so much fun, but not really. Sorcha is about to just give up and go back to her quarters when a new guest arrives.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Inquisitor, Alistair/Female Lavellan
Series: I never asked for love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559443
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	A Cut, a Drop of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for sexual harassment (Bloody Orlesians...)

Lights sparkled, dresses shimmered and fake smiles flashed. Eyes traced her, seeing her pointed ears, her large eyes, but not the glowing green of the mark. Gloves made of smooth silk reached over her elbows. She didn’t need a magical green glow to feel out of place, her being an elf was bad enough. 

The lady that had been talking to her fell silent, looking at her expectantly.

“Sorry, missed that.” She smiled, a fake one just like the ones around her. 

The woman, Lady Giroux, placed a hand on her arm like they were friends. “I said it was such a pity the Duchess did not manage to get Les Trois Soeurs to provide the music for the night.” She bent closer but didn’t lower her voice one bit. “You must never have heard of them. Well, perhaps that is for the better as it means you will be able to listen to this without wincing every second note.” She sighed dramatically and Sorcha only kept from rolling her eyes by sheer force of will. 

“Indeed, we Dalish have of course never heard this type of music.” And we’re not missing anything, Sorcha added in her mind. The sneer in her tone was either lost on the woman, or she chose to ignore it.

A man, his hair greying at his temples joined them. “Please excuse me for interrupting your talk, but would you honour me with this dance, Madame?” He kissed the hand she’d extended.

“If that is your wish, who am I to disappoint, Your Grace?” 

Leaning against one of the columns lining the hall, Sorcha watched the two of them make their way to the dance floor. Lady Giroux could’ve just said “yes”, but for some reason, she had to make it sound as if she was doing the man a favour, even though he was of higher rank than her. Probably had something to do with the Game. A slow waltz started and Lady Giroux and her partner danced close together. Very close. Sorcha filed it away as one of the details Leliana would like to know. 

“Your Highness?” A young man startled her from her observations. “I do not believe we have met. I am Comte Valois. Etienne for you.” Dark, calculating eyes belied his charming words. 

“I doubt I have to introduce myself.” His lips curved up at that and it gave his face a softness she wasn’t expecting. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as she’d initially thought. Better to keep some distance for now, though. “Please call me Lavellan.”

He watched her like she had to do something, the silence stretching a moment too long before he said, “An honour to meet you.” His eyes flickered to her ears. “Lady Lavellan.” 

He’d been waiting for her to extend her hand so he could kiss it, she realised when he fell silent again. Shemlen and their weird customs. Too late for that, now. His gaze wandered to the dancing couples and she could almost see the thoughts mulling in his mind when he turned back to her. 

“Would you…” Should I ask the barbarian woman to dance? What if she can’t dance and embarrasses me? But having others see me dance with the Inquisitor would result in useful rumours, earn me a few points over my opponents. Then again, she _is_ an elf. Valois took two glasses of sparkling wine from a passing servant, offering her one. A corner of his mouth quirked in triumph when she accepted it. She pretended to take a sip, while he started talking about his family’s castle near Val Firmin. With the column at her back and some Orlesian noble she couldn’t care less about standing uncomfortably close before her, she wished she could Fade Step. An easy way out. Alas, she was no mage.

“Please excuse me.” She put the glass on one of the tall tables and began weaving her way through the crowd. One of the best things of being Inquisitor, Herald, or whatever they wanted to call her, was that she didn’t owe them an excuse. Giving explanations would make her seem unsure and, surrounded by people who plotted murders in their free time, that could be a fatal mistake. One of Josephine’s lessons.

The music fell silent, the murmur of voices following like a shadow. At the other end of the grand hall, the gold-coated doors had opened to let a newly arrived guest in. Standing before two guards was a man whose slightly tousled hair and long nose she would recognise anywhere.

“His Majesty, the King of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin,” the announcer spoke. A rush of whispers followed as Alistair walked forward until he was standing at the edge of the dance floor. A bubble of emptiness formed around him, only his two guards standing near. The warm light of the chandeliers shone on his copper hair and her fingers curled at the thought of how it had felt under her hands. It took nearly bumping into a servant to realise her feet were carrying her to him. She stopped to apologise and in that moment, the bubble around him collapsed. He hadn’t even noticed her. 

Nobles streamed in to surround him, all vying for his attention. His mouth moved with words she couldn’t make out, giving a grin to one person, while he nodded at someone else. In between the backstabbing Orlesians, his kind manner should’ve made him an easy target, but they hung on his lips in a way she hadn’t seen before. He might not like being king, but he wasn’t half bad at it. 

Pushing aside the sinking disappointment that had no reason to be there, Sorcha turned her back to the room and went to the glass doors that led to the garden. They weren’t locked—not that it would’ve deterred her if they had been—and the night air was pleasantly cool on her skin when she opened one. A stone wall reaching just above her knees separated a terrace from the garden and lanterns cast circles of light along the main path. Muffled sounds still reached her, but here she could also see the stars ahead and feel the wind. It wasn’t until her shoulders relaxed that she noticed the tension in her body. A long sigh escaped her and she closed her eyes.

 _Click._ Her eyes flew open and she twisted around to face the intruder. 

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Valois said as he crossed the terrace to stand next to her. He didn’t sound like he meant it at all.

“I was just… startled.” A memory tugged at the back of her mind at those words and a blush crept up when she remembered where she’d heard them before. Alistair had looked rather adorable sitting upright in her bed with a line from the pillow on his cheek and his eyes wide in, well, startlement. 

Valois’ arm touched hers, taking her back to the present. “No reason to be startled.” His voice was smooth like honey, yet the shiver running down her spine wasn’t from pleasure. “I wanted to tell you that you look absolutely beautiful.” 

She stumbled a step back, but his eyes clung to her like resin to a tree. “Thank you for the compliment.” She turned her attention back to the garden. If he was smart, he would catch her hint. If he wasn’t… She reached for her boot as if to adjust it.

He stepped closer. “Why would such a beautiful woman be all alone?” The tone might suggest he was exchanging pleasantries but had he just stressed that last bit?

“Being alone is exactly the reason I’m here. Do go back to the grand hall. Please.” If he could threaten, she could order.

A low chuckle that made her shiver again. “I don’t think so.” His hand closed around her arm.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Oh, but I think I would.” How had she ever thought that smile softened his face? “And if you know what is—” His eyes turned wide in fear and he gripped her arms even tighter, though she doubted that was a conscious action.

“I told you nicely to leave. Niceness is over now.” She bared her teeth at him, pressing the blade of her weapon—courtesy of Leliana—against the skin of his neck. A drop of red welled up, flowed down the blade in a meandering line. A dagger wasn’t her weapon of choice, but cutting his throat right now would require little skill.

“You. You wouldn’t.” His honeyed voice was gone and she could see his heart pulsing fast in the crook of his neck. 

“Want to try? I am an elven barbarian, after all.”

He swallowed while drops of sweat formed on his brow. “I never. Never said that.”

She barked a laugh. “But you did think it, didn’t you? You all think you’re so much better.” Anger filled her voice, anger from how those shemlen in there treated her, anger from how she’d been judged over and over by people who didn’t even know her. She could kill him, murder seemed to be a common occurrence at Orlesian parties. It would make her fit right in. She pushed him away with a snarl. “Get out.”

He stumbled his way back to the doors, mumbling apologies and never turning his back on her. It would’ve been funny if she hadn’t been so very mad. So mad she could kill that stupid shemlen and feel good about it. But killing random nobles wasn’t what the Inquisitor did. Her hand trembled when she pulled up the hem of her dress to put the dagger back in her boot.

“Sorcha?”

Her head shot up, her hand went back to her boot. Alistair was standing several feet from her, hands turned up to show he meant no harm. She rolled her shoulders back, taking a few deep breaths. “Alistair.” 

“Are you all right? I saw him going after you, but all those people wanted my attention and—”

“Fine,” she snapped. 

He looked like she’d slapped him in the face. “Right.”

“Sorry. But I’m fine, really.” Her voice broke at the end and treacherous tears welled up in her eyes. She bit on the inside of her cheek. She was _not_ going to cry. He edged closer but stopped at an arm’s length distance. The breeze filled the space between them, carrying the sweet scent of crystal grace. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t come any closer. If she hadn’t felt the weight of all those prying eyes from inside, she might have asked him to put his arm around her and to tell her something, anything to cheer her up. Those eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness stretching out before them, though.

“Want to take a walk?” she asked.

His eyebrows shot up before his mouth turned into the only honest smile she’d seen this evening. “My pleasure.” 

She hooked her arms through his, though she was careful to keep a proper distance as they strolled down the path. Listening to his silly tales, she soon found herself laughing and even telling a few of her own adventures. He listened like she was the only one deserving his attention this evening—to be fair, the Orlesians were no real match—and she let her head rest against his shoulder.

They reached an open spot, the silvery moonlight illuminating a raised bed filled with flowers at the centre. The bells of crystal grace moved in the breeze, embrium surrounding the pale flowers like deep red flames. Sorcha ran a finger over one of the delicate bells.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Her breath caught when she met Alistair’s eye. He was looking at her. Not at her ears or her dress or her body underneath that dress, but at _her_. 

His hazel eyes were warm and kind, his voice just a bit hoarse when he said, “You are beautiful.”

She wasn’t sure who was the first to move, but suddenly they were kissing. His lips warm on hers, his hands around her waist to hold her close. Slowly, he opened his mouth and she took the time to deepen their kiss, to feel him, to taste him. His kiss was gentle and kind, yet in no way was it chaste. Her cheeks were glowing, the warmth from where he pressed against her spreading through her entire body, making it tingle. She ran her hands from his broad shoulders down his back, coming to rest around firm buttocks. Without warning he broke the kiss and, feeling pleasantly lightheaded, she clasped his arms. 

“Are we doing this?” he asked. “Here?”

“Seems like it.” She couldn’t stop the foolish grin on her face.

He looked from bush to bush. “I don’t know if…”

In her sweetest voice, she began, “Alistair.” He turned to her with his eyes narrowed. As if she was going to propose something entirely indecent. Well, she was, but that wasn’t the point. “I could go on my knees and beg you if you’d like?”

A momentarily look of confusion turned to shocked understanding when she hitched up her dress and fell to her knees on the strip of grass lining the flower bed. “You. I.” A heavy sigh when she looked up at him and licked her lips. “Maker. How can I refuse when I can’t even think?” He didn’t sound like he minded that too much, so she set to work undoing his belt.

He was already half-hard when she pushed down his undergarments. Not letting go of his gaze—by Mythal, his eyes were burning with want—she took him in her mouth, relishing in his groan when she took him in as deep as she could. He filled her mouth, growing harder and bigger until she could no longer fully take him. With her hand around his shaft, she continued sucking, her tongue swirling around his tip. 

Her head bobbed up and down in the same rhythm as the throbbing between her legs. She tensed her thighs to stimulate herself down there, but it wasn’t enough. Her mouth worked around him more vigorously and he rocked his hips into her, muttering under his breath. A thrill of lust went through her at hearing his incoherent mumbling accompanied by stifled groans. She might be the one on her knees before a king, but he was entirely under her control.

When she tasted the salty first drops of his seed on her tongue, she pulled back. His eyes were glassy when he looked at her.

She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “I want you.”

He shuddered and blinked once, twice. When he focused on her, the pure lust in his hazel eyes pinned her to her place. In a single movement, he lifted her onto the stone wall of the flower bed. It took some wriggling to get her dress up and when it was, he didn’t bother getting rid of her lace panties. He simply pushed them aside before placing his cock against her opening. He stopped.

“Alistair, please.” An embarrassing, wailing sound escaped her. He was right there, hot against her wet lips. She’d told him what she wanted and she wanted it now. A steadying hand on her back and then he pushed inside her. Oh, by the Creators, by Fen’Harel, she’d forgotten what it felt like to have him fill her. No, not forgotten, there had been many a lonely night that she’d thought of him, but reality was better. Way better than her fingers could ever be. 

This time she didn’t need to urge him on. His hands moved to her hips, fingers pressing into them to hold her in her place, and she clung to his shoulders. His mouth closed on hers to swallow her moans as she felt the heat of her climax build with each rhythmic thrust. She bit his lip when it hit, her legs straddling his waist while he kept reaching that sensitive spot. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, Alistair’s raw groan against her lips as he took her harder. Eventually, her body went limp and she sagged against him, but he didn’t stop. 

He was muttering again, his eyes closed. Each time he slid in her, his voice grew louder, but she could never make out the words. Not that she tried; focusing on strange mumbling when his thumb was circling her clit proved to be quite… difficult. Little shocks travelled through her to reignite the fire that was still glowing. She bit the soft skin of his neck while he held her shuddering body. With a final thrust, he came as well.

Foreheads leaning against each other they caught their breath while the last echoes of her orgasm made her clench her muscles around him now and again.

She reached up to run a finger over the cut on his lip. “I’m sorry about that.” 

Alistair’s tongue darted out, wiping away the blood. “Well, then. I wonder what they’ll make of that.” 

“Your neck is also a bit red.” She shifted around on the rough stone with him still inside her.

He chuckled and, with a crooked grin, pulled out of her. Gentle fingers adjusted her panties until they covered her swollen, sensitive lips. “Guess you’ll have to walk around with that reminder of me for the rest of the night. Fair trade, I’d say.”

Carefully, very carefully, she slid down. If she kept her muscles tight, she just might manage to reach her room. 

“What were you muttering by the way?” she asked while she smoothed her dress. It wasn’t that far to the guest quarters and if she took small steps—

“That? I was.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it dishevelled. “I was reciting the list of noble houses in Ferelden. And then Orlais. After you came the first time I continued with the Free Marches.”

“Noble houses?” Laughter bubbled up and she put a hand over her mouth to stop it, but it was pointless. The muscles of her abdomen contracted, while those down there relaxed, and she felt his seed flow out of her. Lace panties proved no barrier. “Can you imagine the stir it would’ve caused if you’d cried out ‘de Chalons’ when you came?”

“Yes, well. Wanted to make sure you would be, you know, satisfied.”

Side by side they walked back to the mansion. The inside of her thighs was slippery by the time they reached the terrace and a drop of blood welled up from the cut on Alistair’s lip. A single look at them and their dishevelled clothes would show exactly what they’d been up to.

“I suggest we don’t go in together. Since I’ve endured this party for long enough, I’ll just sneak past everyone and go to my room.”

“You’re leaving me like this?” He held a hand to his, assumedly, pained heart. 

She wiped the blood from his lip before placing a kiss on the spot. “Have fun.” Before he could respond, she’d crossed the terrace and opened the doors.

Music, voices and the smell of a lot of people packed together in a room enveloped her like a dirty blanket. More than a few of the guests were laughing and talking louder than appropriate, their steps swaying from left to right. Head held high, she strode down the centre of the hall, all too aware of the wetness coating her thighs and the smell of sex, of him hanging around her. Let Alistair see she wasn’t taking the easy way out, she was doing this for his reputation. Her own didn’t matter much, a Dalish barbarian was capable of anything, right? Including seducing the handsome King of Ferelden. 

She smiled when she reached the end of the grand hall. He had wanted her as much as she had wanted him. No driving away of shadows, just plain old lust. Might have to do it again, just to live up to her tainted reputation.


End file.
